


Lord of the Blade

by manic_intent



Series: Lord of the Blade [2]
Category: Ghost of Tsushima (Video Game)
Genre: A Masako Tale, F/F, F/M, Full spoilers, Some additional thoughts, That pre-and-post-canon Tale of Masako footnote
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25987804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: “This is not history,” Shigesato said, facing down his mother. “It’s rumour and hearsay.”“I’m here, aren’t I? I’ll decide what is rumour and hearsay. Sit.” Masako gestured at the engawa. She glanced at Harunobu. “You as well.”“Haha-ue!” Shigesato bristled. Harunobu exhaled. He got up on the engawa and knelt.“Sit,” Harunobu said, “or she’ll make you sit.”
Relationships: Adachi Harunobu/Adachi Masako, Adachi Masako/Mai
Series: Lord of the Blade [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886146
Comments: 21
Kudos: 70





	Lord of the Blade

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I purged all my Masako feels, but apparently not, so here's a little self-indulgent extra that ran longer than I wanted it to. Full spoilers. You will have to read the previous story to understand this one. 
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“There will be trouble,” Shigesato said as he walked with Harunobu across the courtyard. “Kublai Khan is a man striving to live up to a legend. He must retaliate in some form, and Tsushima would be a logical staging point for an advance force. He will send one of his cousins. Or come himself.” 

“What would you counsel the Shikken to do? Pay the tribute? He will take it out of the hides of the peasants in the land, who are already breaking under the taxes he sets,” Harunobu said, distracted. The possibility of invasion weighed on his mind. He’d discussed the same thing with Lord Shimura Akio.

“We prepare for war. Fortify our castles and villages. Store food and invite additional forces from the mainland.” 

“Mainland clans will not be willing to send an expeditionary force to Tsushima on a possibility…” Harunobu trailed off at a wave of feminine laughter, coming from one of the houses reserved for honoured guests. 

Lady Miho’s voice grew audible as the laughter faded. “—and that is what you get when most of the musicians you see are men!” 

Shigesato coloured. “Chichi-ue, I apologise on my wife’s behalf. I’ve already told her that acting like a stage entertainer is beneath her.”

“No matter,” Harunobu said, having no real impression of Miho other than the fact that she was adequately deferential around him, and that she came from a friendly daimyō clan in the north. “Lord Shimura will be holding a conference over the matter in a week, where he may instruct us to call our banners—”

Another wave of laughter drowned out his words. “O! Listen to the tale of Lord and Lady Adachi,” Miho said with brilliant glee. “The love story between two legendary kensei. The true story, not the ones you hear from men.”

Shigesato reddened further. “Excuse me,” he said, stalking over to the guesthouse. Harunobu followed as Shigesato stalked onto the engawa and opened the shoji door roughly—only for them both to blink as they recognised Masako sitting just beyond, a group of surprised women and Lady Miho gathered in the room. The wives of the kashindan, along with Lady Ikue, Yasunari’s wife, who turned very pale and lowered her head. 

“Haha-ue,” Shigesato said, startled. 

Masako rose slowly to her feet, picking up her sheathed katana as she glanced between Shigesato and Harunobu, her lined face unreadable. “Is there a problem?” 

“No,” Harunobu said, even as Shigesato said, “Haha-ue, I apologise for my wife’s mischief, and for any offence she may have caused.” 

“Has she caused any?” Masako said, her tone deliberately calm. 

“Shigesato,” Harunobu said in a warning tone, but Shigesato scowled. 

“Is it not my right to decide whether she has?” Shigesato grit out. 

“Just as it would be my right to correct my children on their misunderstandings,” Masako said. “How do we remember what came before us but through stories? How do we grow and learn as a people but through history, and what is history but a story to be told again and again?” 

“This is not history,” Shigesato said, facing down his mother. “It’s rumour and hearsay.” 

“I’m here, aren’t I? I’ll decide what is rumour and hearsay. Sit.” Masako gestured at the engawa. She glanced at Harunobu. “You as well.” 

“Haha-ue!” Shigesato bristled. Harunobu exhaled. He got up on the engawa and knelt. 

“Sit,” Harunobu said, “or she’ll make you sit.” 

With a scowl, Shigesato knelt, with an open show of grievance. Masako inclined her head. “Good to see that I have sons who still respect their parents,” she said, and closed the shoji door in their faces. “Miho, where were you?” 

There was a long silence, then Miho giggled and cleared her throat. “Listen! Our story begins with a bet, a bet between two Gods. Inari Ōkami, the God of foxes and rice, and Takemikazuchi, the God of thunder and the sword. One day, Inari Ōkami said to Takemikazuchi, ‘You of the storm and lightning who think you know power! You cannot understand the nature of power, unless you first understand powerlessness.’ Takemikazuchi was wroth, for the god of the storm was not used to criticism. ‘There is no such thing as powerlessness,’ he said, ‘only people who lack the resolve for power.’” 

Miho laughed, a low, hoarse, cackling sound quite unlike the tinkling bell of her usual voice. “‘Care for a wager, O God of the Storm?’ said Inari Ōkami. ‘Name it,’ said Takemikazuchi. ‘I will bet all the sake in my stores against yours that you cannot incarnate and grow up as a poor peasant woman without ever being tempted to take up a sword,’ said the God of foxes, with the smile of a fox. Takemikazuchi sneered. ‘Only that? Prepare to lose,’ he said, and strode from Heaven. He arranged for himself to be born into a poor farming family on a small farm in Izuhara. Now the child of a ronin-turned farmer, as he—now she—grew older over the years, she refused to touch her father’s sword.” 

“Nonsense,” Shigesato muttered, only to be silenced by a frown from Harunobu.

“The days grew long, and with worsening floods, grew hungrier. Soon bandits like starved wolves swarmed over the fields, intent on raiding those they thought defenceless. As they surrounded the peasant girl’s house, their leader cried, ‘Hoi! You who are inside. Send out your rice and send out your daughters! We’ll have some fun while we eat, then we will spare your lives,’” Miho said, imitating a harsh snarl that had some of the women gasp in horror.

Shigesato tensed, frowning, but he said nothing as Miho continued, “Their answer was the howling wind, marking time. The samurai were far away, and the family only had daughters. As the mother wept, one daughter shrank away, while the other rose to her feet. ‘Hide,’ said her old father. ‘I’ll sacrifice myself to draw them away. Don’t be afraid.’ ‘No,’ said the girl. ‘There is nothing that I fear, not in this world or the next. I will never hide. Not from anyone, or anything.’ She took up a rusting old blade from her father’s past life as a ronin and strode out of the door to face the bandits alone. Behind her, she could hear the sound of a fox, laughing, but she ignored it as she walked. 

“The bandits jeered when they saw one girl come out with a sword. ‘Little girl!’ said the bandit leader. ‘Why is a pretty girl like you playing with an old sword like that? Come and play with mine.’ The girl smiled and raised her blade. Haah! Raah! Before anyone could speak a further word, she cut his head from his shoulders.” 

“That old blade wouldn’t have been able to behead anyone,” Masako said, chuckling. “It broke while I was fighting them.” 

“She cut his throat, and rushed toward the next, with the force of a river, the might of a storm,” Miho corrected without breaking her stride, going on to describe an animated battle against overwhelming foes. Harunobu glanced at his son. Shigesato looked as though he’d forgotten his anger—he leaned forward, completely absorbed. “When the dawn came, the bandits lay dead in the fields. Only then did the samurai arrive, led by the handsome son of a daimyō clan—”

“He wasn’t that handsome,” Masako said, to the startled laughter of the women. Shigesato grimaced, looking over at Harunobu, who smiled faintly.

“‘Did you kill all these men?’ asked young Lord Adachi Harunobu, who looked at the dead in amazement. To which the peasant girl replied…?” 

“Surprise,” Masako said. 

Above the ripple of laughter, Miho said, “Lord Harunobu was instantly smitten. He, a kensei himself, had never known that female kensei could exist—and here was one! ‘What is your name?’ he asked. To which the peasant girl replied…?” 

Masako sniffed. “None of your business.” 

Shigesato blinked as Harunobu stifled a laugh along with the giggles from within the room. “Her family rushed out of the house. ‘Masako, are you all right?’ cried her mother. ‘So your name is Masako,’ said Lord Harunobu. ‘You must be a divine talent to have killed all these men by yourself. Marry me. We are meant to be together.’ To which the peasant girl said, ‘There is a hidden pool to the north, wealthy with flowers. Meet me there in three days. If you can defeat me, I will marry you.’” 

“I told him to get his parents’ approval first,” Masako said, chuckling, “but I like this version better. Go on.” 

“It is said that the peasant girl and the young kensei fought for three days and three nights,” Miho said, “until at the very end, the girl said, ‘Takemikazuchi is pleased with your skill, Lord Harunobu. I will consent to be your wife. I will honour you and give you sons, but you must swear to honour me in turn or face the consequences.’ So did Lord Harunobu swear. They were wed that week—”

“More like in half a year,” Masako said. 

“—and soon celebrated the birth of their first son, Lord Yasunari, a boy born of late spring and the summer wind, the future husband of our dear Lady Ikue. Lady Ikue, any words?” 

Harunobu glanced behind him at the sound of footsteps. “I thought I heard my name,” Yasunari said, looking between them with curiosity. “Why are the two of you sitting here?” 

“Sit next to your brother,” Harunobu said as Shigesato opened his mouth. Shigesato closed it with a frown as Yasunari obeyed, blinking as the women in the room clapped and laughed at something Ikue likely murmured. 

“The years grew longer, and Lord Harunobu was called to war in Yarikawa. Before he rode out, Lady Masako said, ‘I will go with you.’ ‘No,’ said Lord Harunobu, ‘or who will be here, protecting our son?’ To which Lady Masako looked him in the eyes and said, ‘Then remember your promise,’ and said no more. The war was a long, terrible, and lonely war. Far from home, barracked with a vassal clan, Lord Harunobu caught the eye of a beautiful samurai woman, the youngest daughter of the clan. They began to grow close.” 

“Enough,” Shigesato grit out. He began to get to his feet, only to hesitate as Harunobu stared him down. 

“You heard your mother,” Harunobu said. “Sit.” 

“Chichi-ue!” Shigesato complained. 

“ _Sit_ ,” Masako snapped from within the house. “Miho, go on.” 

“There was nothing dishonourable in their friendship,” Miho said hastily, “compared to what you may have heard. Yet when the war was over, and Lord Harunobu returned to his home, he found his wife waiting. She was silent as he discussed the war, silent as he described the year, until at last Lord Harunobu said, ‘What is wrong?’

“Lady Masako said, ‘My lord, have you forgotten our promise?’ to which Lord Harunobu said, ‘I have not.’ ‘Then,’ said Lady Masako, ‘how could you consider taking another woman as your concubine?’” The women in the room gasped, even as Yasunari and Shigesato looked sharply at Harunobu. He kept his expression carefully still, flattening his hands on his knees. 

“Chichi-ue, is this true?” Yasunari said, lowering his voice—a rarity for his usually brash son. 

Miho’s voice dropped to a gruff register. “‘It is not illegal for a man to take a concubine,’ said Lord Harunobu, ‘nor will that dishonour you.’ To which Lady Masako said, ‘My lord, a promise is a promise. There is a hidden pool that we know well, no longer wealthy in flowers, for winter has eaten the world and my heart alike. Meet me there in three days, and bring your sword.’ She vanished, leaving only the scent of the storm in her place, and now Lord Harunobu knew the true nature of the woman he had married.” 

The women gasped again, murmuring among themselves as Miho said, “Lord Harunobu secluded himself. In three days, he wrote three poems. One of memory, one for his son, one of death. Once he was done, he rode to the pool, bringing only his sword. He found his opponent waiting. No longer a woman, but a creature of lightning and storms. The Lord of the Blade. ‘Come,’ said Takemikazuchi, forging a blade out of the lightning that cracked through the sky. ‘You who would break faith with the Lord of thunder and steel. Draw your sword.’” 

“Wah,” Yasunari said, even as Shigesato shushed him.

“Again they fought for three days and three nights, again evenly matched. Yet the more they fought, the more regret began to eat at Lord Harunobu’s heart. The more they fought, the more the lightning-incarnation before him began to coalesce into the shape of the woman he loved. It is said that you cannot hide what you are when you bare a sword. Nor can you hide who you want to be. They fought to a standstill, until at the very end, Lord Harunobu said…?” 

“I won’t beg you to forgive me when I’m not in the wrong,” Masako said, her tone distant, “but I’m not above begging you to come home with me.” 

“Not in the wrong?” hissed one of the kashindan women, only to be frantically shushed by the others. 

“With that, Takemikazuchi became a woman again, no longer crowned by the storm. Lady Masako stared at Lord Harunobu—the kensei covered in blood and swaying on his feet while she stood untouched. ‘Remember your promise,’ she said. A promise that he has honoured to this day. So ends our tale in the heart of winter, of love broken and reborn.” 

The women burst into applause and chatter. As did Yasunari, clapping enthusiastically and pulling a face at his brother when Shigesato glared at him. “Thank you, thank you,” Miho said, no doubt taking her bows. “Haha-ue, with your permission, I’d tell the footnote to the story?”

“Oh?” Masako said, amused. 

Miho let out a cheeky laugh. “About how you and Lord Harunobu celebrated the reaffirmation of your vows on the snow. Leading to the birth of a son of autumn the following year—”

Yasunari started laughing loudly as Shigesato sputtered. “That’s not a story worth telling,” Masako said, chuckling. “It’s late. We should rest.” She gently shooed the kashindan women out from a back entrance. Once the multiple footsteps faded, Masako opened the shoji door.

“Now,” Masako said to Shigesato, “have you learned to respect your wife?” 

Shigesato got to his feet, his jaw set. He began to walk past Masako, only for her to bar his way with her sheathed katana. He stared her evenly in the eyes for a long moment, then inclined his head as she lowered her sword. He walked into the room to a silent Miho and bowed deeply. “I was in the wrong,” he said quietly, “and I hope you will forgive me. You have a rare talent, and it was unjust of me to try to stifle it.” 

Miho’s eyes grew bright as she clasped her husband’s hands. Masako motioned for Ikue to come over, closing the shoji door behind them as they put their sandals on. 

“You’re surprisingly quiet,” Masako told Yasunari as they walked away together. 

“Just thinking. If I am a son of Takemikazuchi, can I turn into lightning as well?” he asked, grinning playfully. 

Masako prodded him in the stomach with the hilt of her sword. “Train harder first. In the meantime, how about giving us another grandchild, hm?”

“I’d much rather learn how to turn into lightning,” Yasunari complained, though he chuckled and hauled his mother into a one-armed hug, his easy strength shifting her against him with no visible effort. “Haha-ue, don’t worry. If chichi-ue ever breaks his word again, I’ll fight him on your behalf.”

“Go to sleep,” Masako said, shooing off her son and his wife. As she walked back to the main house with Harunobu, Masako said, “I haven’t heard that version of the story before.” 

“You’ve heard others?” Harunobu asked. 

“Here and there. The musicians generally agree that it’s your fault.” Masako smiled faintly. Where the shadow of old anger would have festered years ago, now there was only amusement. “I think I’ve heard five different versions of our argument.”

“I liked this one,” Harunobu said, chuckling. “No wonder even Lord Akio had some odd questions for me when he met me after the birth of Shigesato.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t say anything. To Miho or Lord Akio.”

“Your honour has always concerned me more than my own,” Harunobu said, choosing his words gravely. “We know the truth of the matter ourselves, and that is enough for me. Why should I care what others think?” 

“It’s all rather unlikely,” Masako conceded. “Surely people can see that.”

“That you can turn into lightning?”

Masako grinned at him. “That I’d actually forgive you if you’d asked me whether you could take a concubine.” 

“Would that even have been fair of you at that point?” Harunobu asked as they went into their private chambers. 

“Is it a matter of fairness?” Masako countered. prodding Harunobu in the ribs with the hilt of her sword. “Why is a man allowed to take more than one wife, while a woman must be content with one husband?” 

“I recall a particular woman often complaining about husbands being useless,” Harunobu said, pressing kisses over Masako’s throat and chuckling. “Why would such a woman want to have more than one of a useless thing?” 

“Your logic is irrefutable,” Masako said, smirking as they prepared for bed. She made an inquiring sound when Harunobu reached for her as they lay together, his fingers tickling over the binding of her kimono.

“Let me have you,” Harunobu said. Age, time, grief and disappointments had never dulled how much he wanted the woman beside him. 

Masako grinned teasingly at him. “Is this what happens when you listen to a story about us? I should get Miho to add more to her repertoire.” She laughed as Harunobu rolled on top of her to kiss her, unwrapping her tenderly. 

Harunobu kissed down the skin he bared to her breasts, nuzzling one then the other, mouthing kisses over her skin as Masako gently undid the knot in his hair. She giggled as his beard tickled down over her belly, as he kissed between her thighs the way she’d once taught him, lifting her hips to his mouth. Masako groaned as Harunobu pressed his tongue against her mound, then within her, licking and sucking until she jerked against him with a low cry. As Masako sank against the futon, panting, Harunobu wiped his mouth and licked his lips, waiting until she pressed the heel of her foot against his lower back. 

“You’d better not get me pregnant again,” Masako warned as Harunobu pressed within her. He chuckled, hiking up her thighs, his breaths slowing as he thrust inside her heat. 

“I’ll accept the consequences with grace,” Harunobu said, his voice turning strained as he pushed deep. 

Thighs wrapped around his hips as they kissed, Masako’s fingertips tickling down his throat to the scar on his neck. She hummed, low and satisfied and amused. Harunobu did not understand all the stories that made out his wife to be a God, or anything more than she already was—the most glorious woman he had ever met. Whether like this, locked beneath him, or in the heart of winter, baying in rage. 

Harunobu kissed her as he rocked inside her, trying to stay inside her for as long as he could. He pressed his fingers between them to touch her as he thrust, until, with a low, rumbling sigh, Masako scratched her nails down his back and shuddered against him. Only then did Harunobu brace himself and thrust harder, chasing his pleasure. Masako chuckled breathlessly, her hands skating lazily down his back, then she leaned up to sink her teeth against the scar on his throat. Pain lanced into pleasure, tearing release loose. Harunobu buried his shout against Masako’s hair, trembling. 

As they cleaned up and lay together, Masako said, yawning, “There was a letter for you from Lord Shimura.” 

“I saw it.” 

“Trouble?” Masako asked, snuggling up sleepily as Harunobu stroked her hair. 

“It can wait.” Hopefully, it would wait for years more.

#

Masako had been braced for the worst, but her third pregnancy was… mild, compared to the first two. Her appetite returned in the final months, especially after Mai and Yuna created dozens of dishes between them to see what Masako could hold down. She tired far more quickly than before, but that could only be expected. Sitting by the viewing platform, Masako listened to Mai playing the flute beside her, the music entwining sweetly through the warmth of the afternoon sun.

“Lady Masako,” Yuna said behind her, with the respectful tone she only assumed whenever she wanted to mock without appearing mocking. “You have a visitor.” 

“Who is it?” Masako asked, struggling to get to her feet.

Lord Shimura walked over behind Yuna. “No need to rise on my behalf.” He wore an unreadable expression as he studied Masako, then Mai.

“Get us some tea,” Masako told Mai, who bowed and got to her feet, every inch the trained servant as she shuffled away with her eyes averted. Lord Shimura knelt beside Masako where Mai had been, his face drawing up in a faint grimace of pain as he did so. The injuries he’d suffered from the duel with Jin were still healing, then. 

“What brings you here?” Masako asked. 

“Checking on a rumour. I was told that you were ill.” Lord Shimura looked questioningly at her. “I see congratulations are more in order.” 

“A parting ‘gift’ from Harunobu before Komoda,” Masako said, in case Lord Shimura tried to imply anything different. 

She needn’t have worried—her brother’s old friend was not such a man, inflexible as he was. Lord Shimura nodded solemnly. “A miracle, and richly deserved. With your permission, I’d like to send healers from Castle Shimura to reside with you until the birth.” 

“More doctors?” Masako pulled a face. “Send them if you like, but I dislike doctors. Always with one opinion or another. Who told you I was ill?”

“A letter was left on my table.” Lord Shimura studied Masako again as she let out a snort. 

“I see a gap in your teachings, if the letter is from who I think it is,” Masako said with a sharp smile, “if a certain young man of our mutual acquaintance doesn’t understand what pregnancy looks like.” 

Lord Shimura looked away. They sat in silence until Mai returned with tea, kneeling and arranging the tray of snacks before them, then bowing and leaving. “I will pray that it is a son,” Lord Shimura said as he sipped the tea. 

“I can only pray that the child is born healthy, and that I’d survive to see it,” Masako said. War had burned the last of her tact from her. 

Lord Shimura winced. “That as well. Lady Masako…” He trailed off, uncharacteristically hesitant. 

“This had better be about you remembering to apologise to my closest friend for trying to murder her son,” Masako said, sipping her tea. 

That got her a glare. “Jin overstepped. Disobeyed his commander. Committed an atrocity. Besides, I hear that you tried to do the same. For a different reason.”

Masako coughed. "I wasn't trying to kill him. Besides, I've made my apologies since. Both to him and to his mother." Lord Shimura scowled. As Masako lowered her cup, she asked, “Would you have tried to kill him without a direct order from the shōgun?”

Lord Shimura drew pause. He finished his tea and poured himself more before Masako could reach for the cup. “No,” he admitted. 

An ugly knot within Masako eased. “Good. Lady Nahoko might be a little pleased to hear that. Not that she’d forgive you for what you still tried to do. That boy was the joy of her life.” 

“As he was mine.” 

“Was?” Masako repeated, with a pitying smile. Lord Shimura’s hands clenched over the cup that he raised to his lips. When he drank and said nothing, Masako said, “Your sister used to counsel me to forgive myself first before trying to forgive others.” 

“She had her wise moments.” 

“Once, when I told Lady Nahoko that she should watch her health more closely, she said, ‘Don’t worry about me! If anything were to happen, my brother is just as bad as I am. When you watch him with Jin, you’d think that Jin is his son, not his nephew.’” 

Lord Shimura scowled. “Jin did not want to be my son.” 

“He did. More than almost anything. Yet faced with a choice between getting what he wanted, or doing what he thought was right for Tsushima, he did not hesitate.” Masako toasted Lord Shimura with her cup. “You should be proud of him, even if you disagree.”

“Proud? Of that dirty trick with the poison?” 

“He cannot be fully blamed for the consequences. Nor,” Masako said carefully, “for his choices. Before he went to the castle with the poison, he spoke to you, but he also spoke to me. To Ishikawa-sensei. To the rest of his friends. All of us counselled action.”

Lord Shimura frowned at Masako. “You and Ishikawa-sensei told me this while you both petitioned for mercy during his arrest. Before he escaped.” 

“If that friend of his didn’t help him escape, Ishikawa-sensei and I would’ve done something more drastic,” Masako said, pursing her lips. “I was not born a samurai, Lord Shimura. Nor has Ishikawa-sensei lived as a samurai for much of his life. That gives us perspective.”

“Perspective?” Lord Shimura repeated, bristling. “There is an order to our lives, one that must be followed.”

“Had I followed such an order, I would have been dead long ago,” Masako shot back. “Peasant women are not meant to learn how to use a blade. Harunobu would never have married me. I would not be here with you, drinking tea, having drawn my bow and bloodied my blade for your sake.” 

Lord Shimura lapsed into silence, frowning as he finished his tea. Masako poured him another cup. “The shōgun will not easily forgive Jin,” he said, more quietly.

“I don’t believe that Jin seeks forgiveness.” 

“Does he still meet with you?” 

“This house is full of ghosts,” Masako said, eating one of the snacks. “Old and new.” 

Lord Shimura set down the cup, the tea untouched. “When you see him next, tell him…” He fell silent again, breathing slowly as he smoothed down his hakama. “No,” Lord Shimura said after a while. “There is nothing left to say.” He inclined his head and got to his feet, striding off into the courtyard and beyond. 

Masako ate the rest of the snacks. Mai returned, sitting where Lord Shimura had been. “Stubborn old man,” she said. 

“Hush.” Masako smiled. 

“His nephew’s better off without him,” Mai said, never one to be easily shushed, especially when alone. 

“Likely so.” 

“Don’t you think it’s funny?” Mai said as she tossed out the tea in Lord Shimura’s cup and polished it with her sleeve. “The way grown men can fight off an army, kill the Khan, and still be desperate for approval from their male relatives? Living and dead?” 

“Some of them are like that,” Masako conceded. “Not my sons.” She could touch the memory of Yasunari and Shigesato now without breaking down into tears. Not without a lance of pain, though, but Masako was used to pain. 

“Really? With their father such a famous kensei? Those are usually the worst,” Mai said, though her tone was gentle, not mocking. 

“Thanks to all the musicians I plied with money over the years, they grew up more desperate for my approval than Harunobu’s,” Masako said, smiling wryly. “I think it made them better husbands in turn for their wives.” 

“We should keep doing that since it worked so well,” Mai said. She looked back over her shoulder to check that they were alone, then reached over to rub Masako affectionately over the swell of her belly. “If it’s a boy.”

“If it’s not?”

“Then I think we let them run wild, and see what kind of terror they become,” Mai said, grinning mischievously as Masako sniffed, raising the cup of tea to her lips. “Do you know, I thought Lord Shimura was here to ask you to marry him?”

Masako choked, coughing as Mai patted her on the back. “What.” 

“It’d solve all his problems! You’re the only samurai-class woman left on Tsushima. You’re already pregnant, so he doesn’t need to worry about childlessness. Maybe he’s waiting to see if you’ll birth a boy.” 

“No. Gods, no,” Masako said, laughing. “He would never. No matter what I’ve done, no matter who I’ve married, to people like Lord Shimura, I will forever be peasant-born. Besides, I’ll turn him down. I’ve had enough of men like him.” 

“But your son could be the next jitō,” Mai pointed out, pretending to tap at her chin in thought. “Ruler of all he sees. Until the Mongols come back.”

Masako sobered. “You thought about that too?” 

“I think they’ve seen how easy it was to come close to winning, and might try again.” Mai squeezed Masako’s hand. “The Ghost is just one man.” 

“He had the rest of us as well,” Masako said, though this was the fear she’d harboured since returning to her house. “We’ll see.”

#

Another boy. Born small but healthy, Adachi Takemi was such a quiet child that Masako had three healers check the boy carefully over, just in case. He simply did not care to cry, his solemn, oddly intense stare following anything of interest without comment.

“If you like children so much, you should get married,” Masako told Jin as Jin cradled Takemi in his arms and dangled a little wooden carving of a fox just out of the baby’s reach. 

“I’m a landless felon,” Jin said, as Takemi solemnly swiped at the carving. “Wanted by the shōgunate. I’m not the sort of husband that I’d wish on anyone.” 

“Speaking of land, I’ve met the clan that moved into Omi village. They’ve promised to preserve and care for your family’s graves,” Masako said, keeping her tone mild. 

Jin didn’t even flinch. “That’s good to hear. Did you visit them? In your condition?” 

“They sent over a representative. One of their sons, bearing gifts. He was very excited to meet me. I gather those terrible songs about myself and Harunobu made it to the mainland long ago.” 

“They aren’t terrible,” Jin said, handing Takemi the carving, then having to promptly confiscate it as Takemi began gnawing on the tail. “O! Listen to the Tale of Lord and—”

“Stop it,” Masako said, laughing. “They’d have to change all that now. After all that happened without me turning into a god of lightning to stop it.” 

“I heard a version the other day about how some ancient oni with a grudge tricked you into a cricket cage while he… while the tragedy occurred,” Jin said delicately, “and how Inari Ōkami had to set you free. Of the vengeance you then brought upon those who wronged you, and on the Mongols.” 

“Me, instead of the Ghost?” Masako shook her head. “I hardly did anything. A cricket cage, indeed.” 

“I wouldn’t say that you did nothing.” 

“Not compared to you.” Masako glanced at Jin. “Your uncle visited again the other day.” 

Jin tensed but didn’t look up. “Oh?” 

“I told him that if he wanted to blame you for treason, it isn’t as though you didn’t get my approval. Or Ishikawa-sensei’s.”

Jin looked up at Masako in horror. “No. I won’t let him blame anyone else. I’ll write him another letter—”

“No more letters.” Masako poked Jin in the cheek. “They only get you into trouble. Or create misunderstandings. With time, many things can be forgiven.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Lord Shimura once refused to forgive your mother for marrying your father. Until you were born, then she threatened to disallow him from visiting, and he caved.” Masako smiled at Jin. “There, I’ve revealed your uncle’s major weakness. Cute little children from his bloodline. As it is, I'm fairly sure that he only made an excuse to visit so that he could play with Takemi, and Takemi isn't even related to him.” 

Jin shook his head again with a low laugh. “I’m not his blood any longer.”

“A letter or a duel can’t change that. You are his blood, and will always be. He can’t forget that.” 

“Besides. The one I love is dead,” Jin said softly, looking back down at Takemi. “By my hand.” 

Masako let out a slow exhalation. “You’re young. Don’t close yourself off. Try again. Not now, maybe, not in a year, or more. But always, always, find the strength to try again. Your mother would want that.” 

Jin said nothing, handing the fox carving back to Takemi. He smiled as the baby held the toy solemnly, looking back up with wide, dark eyes.

#

“Again,” Takemi demanded as Masako knocked him off his feet. She chuckled, glancing over at where Mai knelt beneath the tree near the hidden pool, drinking sake. “I almost had it.”

“Lord Takemi,” Mai said, “your mother is the divine incarnation of a God, haven’t you heard? You’d have to grow much, much taller first even to come close to beating her in a duel.” 

Takemi scowled, getting to his feet, dressed in bright blue clothes. “Again.” 

“Come on, then,” Masako said, amused. Takemi charged. She quickly sidestepped the swing of his bokken, tapping him twice on the back. “You shouldn’t just swing for where you think I am,” she told him. “You should try to anticipate where I might be next.” 

Takemi nodded, serious for a boy his age. “I will remember that. Haha-ue, again.” 

“In a while. Come.” Masako waved him over to the tree. She sat beside Mai, stealing Mai’s cup of sake to take a sip from it. Mai made a show of gasping in shock, and then she blushed as Masako leaned in to share the sake in a kiss. Takemi made a face and sat down beside Masako.

“Don’t pout,” Mai said, grinning at him. “You’ve been monopolising your mother all morning. It’s my turn.” 

“You’re my mother too,” Takemi complained. “Shouldn’t you want me to get better?” 

Mai blinked. She blushed, even as Masako laughed, pulling Takemi against her into a tight hug. He growled and pushed at her arm, trying to get free. “Your mother as well, hm?” Masako said, kissing the top of Takemi’s head. 

Takemi gave them both a suspicious look. “Isn’t she? Not by blood, but effectively. Even if we can’t say it.” 

“Lord Takemi is so wise at his age,” Mai said, pretending to wipe a tear, though Masako could see her eyes growing moist. “O! Truly, he is a child of divine Takemikazuchi.” 

“If you’re going to make fun of me, I won’t say it anymore,” Takemi said and squawked as Mai leaned over to pinch his cheek. 

“You will grow tall and very handsome and become a legendary swordsman,” Mai told him, “but in the meantime, allow your mothers to rest and have some sake and snacks together, hm? Why don’t you go and shoot some duck for our dinner, if you still have so much energy? Or catch an eel?” 

“Fine,” Takemi said, wriggling free and stalking off to the horses to get his bow. Mai leaned against Masako, shaking gently as Masako stroked her back. 

“I can’t believe a six-year-old boy just made me cry,” Mai whispered. 

“I can’t believe he waited six years to say that, and just in passing,” Masako said, kissing Mai on the temple, then her cheek. “We should have more sake to celebrate. That should call his great-grandfather down from heaven for a look. This was his favourite spot.”

“To see his granddaughter-in-law kiss a woman under a tree?” Mai said cheekily, kissing Masako on the side of her mouth. 

“To see that we endure,” Masako said, kissing her in return. “In all the ways that matter.” She curled an arm around the small of Mai’s back, looking back at Takemi as he missed his first shot. “Arm straight,” Masako called over. “Tighten your back. Listen to the wind.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @manic_intent  
> my prompt policy, original work, writing process: manicintent.carrd.co


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